


And the Pillars Crumbled

by bloodofpyke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:54:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofpyke/pseuds/bloodofpyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Sunday's episode (S02E04 Garden of Bones); AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Pillars Crumbled

“You.” The word was heavy, flung at them like dirt, like the pile of slowly rotting bodies, and she flinched from it, a quick shiver; unwittingly, but there all the same. “You,” he grunted again, and this time he swung an arm up, pointed with a hand that was bloodied and stained and slashing at the air. _You_ , and he was pointing at her, at them, at _him._ And this time she did not shudder; she stood her ground and stared, hands curling into fists at her side, fingernails digging into flesh, dirt upon dirt upon dirt. She did not think; only saw the glimmer of Needle and _wanted;_ she could tear them all down if she had steel grasped in her hands.

But Needle was no longer hers, it was strapped to someone else’s waist, and all that went with it was gone too. The summer snows, the biting wind, Old Nan’s stories, _Winterfell_. All gone, just like that.

 _You_ , he had said, and just like that, he was gone too.

Gone, prodded and pushed away like he was being led to slaughter _(no,_ she thought, knuckles going white, vision going blurred at the edges, _no)_ , and she was so _stupid,_ reaching a hand out after him like they would reconsider and bring him back. But then Hot Pie was next to her, his hand pressing down on hers, and her eyes shut, her jaw clenched, and she was already whispering under her breath, the names tangled and tied up, all bite and snarl. _King Joffrey, Queen Cersei, Ilyn Payne, The Mountain, Polliver._ The last name was the one that stung; it smarted and hissed on her tongue and she wanted to stab it, wanted to set it on fire in the hopes that it would never come back.

“Don’t look,” someone said, and for a wild moment, she thought it was her father speaking, that he was here, that he was alive, that this was all a nightmare. “Don’t look,” they said again, and she realized it was Hot Pie, the words soft and she wanted to stab him too, wanted to set him on fire. She was a _wolf_ , not a frightened little girl, and she would look if she bloody well pleased.

She didn’t want to, wanted to be back in the godswood jabbing at the air with sticks instead. But she was a _wolf_ , and so she squared her jaw and looked over at the men, at Gendry stock still between them. _Don’t look_ , but this time it was a thought, and she ground her teeth until the letters cracked and splintered, crashing down down down until they were there no longer.

And it was quiet, and her stomach turned to hear the words spat out at Gendry, the words she already knew so well that she whispered along with them, her heart going hard and turning to ash beneath her ribs. “Is there gold hidden in the village? Is there silver? Gems? Is there food?” A beat, while the man paused, the sword gleaming and shining, red dripping off it like a nightmare. “Where is Lord Beric? Where did he go? How many men were with him? How many knights? How many bowmen?”

Her voice was rough and jagged, and she could hear her heart beating in her ears, beating in the air around her. _How many, how many, how many_ and the words were a chant in her mind, swirling round and round and round until she grew dizzy. And underneath it all, she could hear the screams, could hear the frenzied, desperate pleas, and her knuckles grew whiter, her voice rougher, and still she whispered along.

She was still whispering when Hot Pie shook her, her blood going cold and frozen as the North when he said, “it’s over, it’s over.”

 _“No!”_ she said, but it was a shout, and soon the men were looking over at her, all blackened eyes and smirks that cut. “No,” she said again, but it was half a whisper now, a ghost fallen on the wind, and Gendry was being tossed onto the pile of bodies, scarred and bruised and broken, and _gone._

And she stood and looked, the image burned into her cells, into her bones, and she hardened and hardened until she was nothing more than a shell, hollowed out and emptied, and still she whispered.

_King Joffrey, Queen Cersei, Ilyn Payne, The Mountain, Polliver._


End file.
